


Sunday Shenanigans

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, mindless banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Mulder and Scully go to a flea market together because why not?





	Sunday Shenanigans

“Mulder, why are we at a flea market?” Scully stands there like a reluctant child; she’s wearing casual clothes, or at least clothes she herself considers causal. Mulder looked her up and down when he picked her up, smiling knowingly and receiving a raised eyebrow in return. He himself is wearing plain jeans and a rumpled t-shirt. Maybe that eyebrow had been for his poor choice of attire. She crosses her arm in front of her chest now; casual is gone and replaced by professional. No matter what she’s wearing.

“The other day you asked me if I ever did anything just for fun.” Mulder shrugs.

“You go to flea markets for fun.”

“Would you rather we go to a farmer’s market?” She stares at him and eventually shakes her head no.

“See. This is fun. You can find the most amazing treasures here, Scully. Just you wait and see. So are you coming or not?”

“I should have asked you where we were going when you picked me up.” She says and it sounds like an endless sigh causing him to grin; Mulder thinks about taking her hand, but decides against it. At least for now. They fall into step easily and their shoulders bump once or twice as they make their way through the well-attended market. Of course Scully stops at every booth to admire second hand trash. Mulder fidgets next to her, or when he gets really impatient, behind her and looks over her shoulder (she hates that), to make her move on. He knows where he wants to go and what he wants to show her. Old vases and dishes are not interesting to him.

“Hm, Mulder this really was a great idea. We should do this every Sunday.” Scully muses when she finally tears herself away. Mulder considers taking her hand again, contemplating the implications of what she’s just said. When she starts moving away from him once again, he just grabs it without a second thought.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t let go of her hand and she is more or less forced to follow him. She squeezes his hand and he slows his steps, looks at her.

“What was that just now?”

“What?”

“You taking my hand and dragging me away. I wanted to look at those paintings.”

“You already looked at paintings.” He is trying to get going again, but she’s not having it. She tugs at his hand with a surprisingly strong force (he’s not really surprised, though) and gives him a stern look.

“But those are different paintings. Why are you in such a hurry? I thought we were doing this for fun.”

“Yeah, we are,” Mulder grumbles and lets her lead him back to the booth with a wide variety of paintings. Even as she sorts through the pictures, some of them framed, she doesn’t let go of his hand. He wonders if she’s worried that he’s just going to wander off if she lets go or if she wants to hold his hand – in public, no less. Mulder is not going to question it, he decides, and tries to be as still as possible beside her. Boredom creeps up on him soon and he shuffles his feet when Scully gasps. 

“Mulder, look at this.” He does. It’s a painting of two people. He stares at it, looks closely at the people, at her, and back at the painting.

“What am I supposed to see?”

“Don’t these two people remind you of someone?”

“No. Should they?” Scully sighs, lets go of his hand, and points at the man in the painting.

“Look, Mulder. He looks just like you.”

“He does?” Mulder squints; is that really how Scully sees him?

“Yes. And this,” she points to the woman standing next to the man refuses to see as himself, “this looks like me.” Mulder squints – again – and tries to see what she’s seeing.

“I think I want to buy it.” She muses, tracing the painted faces.

“You could just put up a picture of us.” The words just tumble out of him as he tries to make sense of this painting and he blushes. Why would she put up a picture of them? So she can tell her dates that look, here’s a picture of me and my work partner? Yeah, right.

“There are no pictures of us, Mulder,” Scully tells him, snipping her fingers to attract the seller, “at least none that weren’t taken at a crime scene. How much is this painting?” She asks when the young man approaches them. Mulder doesn’t care for the guy’s grin and stands closer to Scully.

“How about $50?”

“What?” Mulder basically yells.

“Well, $35?”

“I’ll give you $20.” Scully tells him; her voice lets him, and Mulder, know that she is not accepting anything else. The young man swallows hard and nods.

“You know, you kind of look of my grandmother,” the young man say as Scully searches through her purse for the money; she shoots him a surprised look and his face takes on the color of a ripe tomato, “in the painting that uhm, those are my grandparents. They were painted by my great-aunt. You look like her,” he chances a look at Mulder and his eyes grow huge for a moment, “you both do.”

“Thank you.” There’s a smile in Scully’s voice as she hands over the money and motions for Mulder to carry the painting.

“I told you. They look like us.” She gently elbows him.

“I still don’t understand why you want a painting of us in your home.”

“So you admit it looks like us?” Scully stops Mulder to admire the painting again. If only she’d look at the real him the same way. Not that the man in the painting was him. Or looked like him.

“No, I don’t,” Mulder admits.

“Then why do you worry about it?” Scully cuts him off, tilting her head.

“I’m not worried, Scully, I just-”

“You just what?”

“This is not how I expected this to go. Should we just kiss to break the tension?” It’s a joke, obviously, but Scully startles and she lets go of the painting. Mulder, in an almost ninja-like move, catches it before it crashes to the ground.

“I saved us.” He tells her.

“You said it didn’t look like us.” Scully takes it from him again, her cheeks slightly flushed. He shouldn’t have mentioned kissing, he figures, but he can’t find it in himself to feel too bad about it. He thinks about kissing her way too often, after all, and they’re on duty; apparently his brain is on weekend modus, too.

“All right, it might look like us a little bit. Happy now?”

“Very.” She grins at him. “Let’s put it into the car. You can help me put it up.”

“But Scully,” Mulder whines, following her anyway, “We haven’t been to my favorite booth yet!”

“You can show me next week, Mulder.”

“Are you serious?” He asks, falling into step with her.

“Am I ever not serious?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt on tumblr.


End file.
